


Embers rise again

by Maewn



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: The Ashen One wakes again in his coffin, thrown back to his beginning, when the Lords abandon their Thrones and the Fire is threatened once more.





	1. And the Bells toll again

Ember, Lord of Hollows, Usurper of the First Flame, wakes not to the familiar walls of his keep, to the sounds of his people attending to their duties, but to the open sky, stretching high and far above him.

_Well, that was new._

He blinks slowly, taking in the surroundings. Was he dreaming?

How strange. He doesn’t think he’s dreamt in so long a time. He stretches, realizing then that he lies in a stone box.

_Oh no._

He sits up, armor scraping loudly against stone. _Oh no._

He recognizes this place, hazy in his memory, his awakening as the Bells tolled the fading of the Flame and the abandonment of the Thrones by their proper Lords.

He hears the Bells now; the deep, resounding toll to wake the Unkindled to link the Fire.

_This was no dream._

He can feel the Usurped Flame in his breast, rumbling as the Bells continued to sing their mournful peals into the mountain air.

 Ember wonders if he could Usurp another Flame. What Lord of Hollows would stop at one, after all?

He wants to try, and he has to find Yuria and the others again, anyway. Might as well have some fun along the way to rebuilding his kingdom.

Gundyr is almost too easy to kill and Ember rams his sword up the giant’s throat and gleefully tugs it free, reveling in the rush of a fresh kill.

He’d nearly forgotten how _fun_ it was to slaughter his way through the many other monsters and Lords that existed in the world.

Then it’s on to Firelink Shrine. Ember breezes past the Firekeeper, waves cheerfully to Ludleth who seems to be on the edge of dozing off on his throne and activates the bonfire.

The journey to the Undead Settlement doesn’t take too long, and Ember spots Yoel in prayer, surrounded by dead pilgrims.

“Yoel!” Ember calls, all the command of a Lord of Hollows ringing in his voice.

“Ah, how do you know my name, good Champion of Ash?” Yoel asks, voice thin and reedy.

“I know many things, loyal Yoel,” Ember says. “I would have thee send word to Yuria of Londor, for I much desire to speak with her. I would become this world’s Lord of Hollows and usurp the dying Flame.”

Yoel seems for a moment shocked, but recovers quickly, voice excited now. “Oh, my good Lord, I shall do so at once. I can sense the Sigils you bear, oh how wonderful!”

“I would deliver thy reward, loyal Yoel,” Ember says, idly drumming his fingers against his sheathed sword, “But not until thou have spoken with our Lady Yuria and she stands before me.”

Ember longs to see his black-clad Lady again, see the glint of her bone-white eyes through her ebony helm, hear the sweet sharpness of her voice.

She is a mentor and servant both, sworn to his service, kneeling before his throne of Hollow Souls.

He will need her in the coming months, of that much Ember is sure.

He leaves Yoel to send word, and heads towards the crumbling walls of High Lothric. There’s a few more things that need to die, Ember thinks.

His kingdom will rise like embers from the ashes of this world of dying flame.

_“But the old gods are no more, and the all-powerful fire deserveth a new heir.  
Our Lord of Hollows, it shall be, who weareth the true face of mankind." _


	2. A Knight of Sable

Facing Yuria is harder than Ember had thought. For this is not his Sable Knight, his Lady Yuria. This is not the Lady who accepted his rule and her place beside him.

 _She is not **his.**_ And the thought stings him more than he’d thought it would.

“Lady Yuria,” he says, offering her a courtly bow. The gesture seems to strike a cord in the dark-clad maiden, as she returns the bow, her eyes glinting through the slit of her helm.

“Lord,” she says. “Good Yoel sent word that thou wished to speak with me. Indeed, I sense the Sigil of the Darksign, that thou carry within thee. Thou art a true Lord of Hollows.”

Ember studies her. She’s hard to read; always has been with her helm hiding her pale face. But even without it, he’s found that Yuria speaks the most with her eyes.

The bone-white of the irises are to him one of the most beautiful colors in this fading world, that and the rich red of blood as it leaves his enemies, he muses. Yuria’s eyes give away only that she is curious, cautious and perhaps strangely, hopeful.  

“For the time thou remain'st our Lord,” Yuria continues, “we of Londor shall serve thee. And I, of course, am also thine."

Ember nods. “Where is good Yoel?” he asks, making a show of looking about the shrine though he knows full well that Yoel has most likely already died, having fulfilled his life’s goal at long last.

“Yoel hath pass’d to his reward, lord,” Yuria says. “Thanks to thee, his soul is redeem’d. Prithee, allow me to express my gratitude in his stead.”

Ember gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement. “Thou art to serve me in his place then, Lady Yuria. I trust that thou wilt perform thy duties admirably.”

“Lord,” Yuria says. “Ever am I thy loyal servant.”

Ember leans against the wall opposite Yuria. “Tell me, Lady Yuria, of thy people, of Londor. I would know them ere I wrest the Flame from its mantle.”

So Yuria does. She speaks of the Undead, of their Hollow brethren, of Londor, of the Age of Fire, of Gwyn and his failure to let the Age of Dark to envelop the world. Ember knows all of this, but he wants to hear her speak, hear the devotion with which she strives to change the world.

In his chest the Usurped Flame rages to hear the words spoken. It amuses Ember to no end that the Flame has retained some of Gwyn’s ego and pride. Foolish God indeed.

The Flame must be torn from its mantle. It cannot be linked again. The cycle is at its inevitable end and any attempt to link the dying Flame will not take root.

The Age of Dark comes, fiercer for its continued avoidance. Gwyn was only delaying the natural and nature is unforgiving.

Ember and his people will weather the Age of Dark, shaping it to the Age of Hollows.

And his Sable Knight will stand at his side, loyal as ever.

_“I would’st serve none other, lord,” Yuria says, and in his memory her eyes are bright and brilliant, her face somehow beautiful despite the Undeath that shows clearest at her cheeks and beneath her eyes. “Thou art Our noble Lord, one who hast devoured the Flame, and will raise Hollowkind to glory.”_

_Ember remembers the hardness of her gauntlets against his bare skin, the keen grip of her hand in his as she half knelt to him._

_“Lord,” Yuria says, “Wherever thou may go, shall I go too. I am thine, for as long as thou wilt have me.”_

Now, Ember watches his Knight, noting the little movements that speak to Yuria’s excitement, how her fingers twitch, clasped before her as she describes Gwyn’s Age of Fire and its failings.

He wants to see her face, see the pale maiden beneath the ebony helm, see her eyes looking to him with such devotion and loyalty. But, he reminds himself, she does not trust him so just yet. Patience is needed, and careful steps.

He will need to be very cautious about his movements. The lords must die again for him to Usurp this world’s flame.

So too, he thinks, must Anri. He feels for her, he really does, but every ruler must make sacrifices. Anri will be another poor soul sacrificed upon the altar for the good of Hollowkind.

His so-called spouse. He suppresses a snort of laughter. She had been a good woman, he supposes, but not the one for whom his Undead heart sung.

‘Wedding’ her had been the fulfillment of duty, not of devotion. Ember still remembers the crunch of her skull beneath the Blade of Avowal, relishing the weight of Dark Sigils absorbed as he drove the blade deep.

He at length bids Yuria farewell, making his way to the bonfire and letting it carry him away to the next task on the long road to rebuilding his kingdom.

_"If the lords will not return to their thrones themselves, let them return as cinders."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is starting to look like it's going to be at least a chapter or so more. Gotta say, I did not expect this story to grow legs and walk away from me. It's like a Mimic, only less deadly and creepy (well, it's Dark Souls, Everything is deadly).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all liked the story so far and that you enjoy the next few chapters.


	3. The End to an Age

Ember places the ashes of Aldrich upon the throne before stepping back. Only Lothric remains to be returned to his throne.

Ludleth is watching him as he turns to leave. There is a keen light in the Lord of Cinder’s eyes that bothers Ember.

“What?” Ember asks.

“You seem deep in thought, Ashen One,” the Pygmy says. “Off to speak with your Lady mayhaps?”

Ember tilts his head, saying nothing as he stares at the Lord of Cinder. Ludleth seems unfazed by the cold look that Ember levels at his withered frame.

“The Lords will return to their thrones one way or another, Ludleth,” Ember says softly. “Tis all that thou should concern thyself with.”

He stalks from the throne room on near silent feet.

Yuria melts from the shadows to walk beside him, her sudden appearance no longer surprising.

“Welcome back, lord and liege,” she murmurs.

Ember says nothing but walks deeper into the shrine and Yuria follows him, ever one step behind. There is a room on the lower levels where they will not be disturbed. The other inhabitants of the shrine have learned to avoid it, especially when the sounds of battle echo from the depths.

“Thou seem troubled, lord,” Yuria says. “Prithee how may I be of service?”

“Spar with me,” Ember says shortly as they arrive and Ember draws the great Zweihander from his back, leaning into his stance.

“As thou command,” Yuria says, “So shall it be done.” She draws her sword, a slender blade, but terribly sharp, as Ember well knows.

Ember leaps forward, bringing the sword down. Remarkably, Yuria’s Darkdrift remains intact, though Yuria herself is almost pushed back by the force of Ember’s strike.

Ember loses himself in the clash of their blades, delighting in the deadly dance, the sweet sound of steel ringing in the air.

It’s been so long since he’s sparred with Yuria. The first time had been after killing the Abyss Watchers, and they’ve clashed a few more times since, but that had been months ago Ember thinks, though it is hard to judge the passing of time in this dying world.

Yuria is a quick learner, and it’s through their sparring that Ember has grown to appreciate the swordswoman’s lightning-fast ripostes and parries. He’s learned much from her. In both his previous world and this one.

They fight for hours, around and around, until at last Ember calls an end to the spar with a simple gesture of his hand. Yuria pauses in her stance, before sheathing Darkdrift and kneeling, head bowed.

“My thanks, Yuria,” Ember says, removing his helmet and setting it aside, brushing his dark hair back. “Thou art a worthy opponent.”

“I live to serve thee, lord,” Yuria says.

Ember sits down on the bottom step of the stairs, beckoning her forward. She rises and walks closer before sitting before him, hands folded in her lap, head tilted, curiosity in her bright eyes.

“If I were to ask something of thee, Yuria, woulds’t thou grant it?”

“If it were within my power to give to thee, lord, I would,” Yuria answers.

“Hmm,” Ember says. “Remove thy helm, Yuria. I would see the face of my loyal Lady.”

Yuria nods, her hands coming up to lift the helm free, resting it in her lap.

She is pale, as are most Hollow of Londor, though her face oddly shows very little of her Hollowing, only the slightest of traces at her cheeks and beneath her eyes. Her silvery hair is long, flowing down her back, her piercing bone-white eyes watching him.

Ember reaches out and traces the fine edges of her cheekbones with his thumbs. The metal of his gauntlets are no doubt cold but Yuria is still, allowing her Lord to touch her face without complaint.

“Why hide such a lovely face from thine own lord, loyal Yuria?” Ember asks.

“It has long been my custom, lord,” Yuria answers, “A warrior has little need for her beauty.”

“And still thou art beautiful to my eyes,” Ember says, and notes the faintest of blushes come to her pale cheeks.

“Thou art kind to say so, lord,” Yuria says. “But thou hath a spouse to whom thou should’st attend.”

Ember snorts and drops his hands.

“My dear Yuria,” he says. “Surely thou art not as blind as our Firekeeper? Thou knows’t I have little care for Anri. She is a sacrifice, nothing more.”

“That may be, lord,” Yuria agrees. “But I am thy servant and not thy spouse.”

Ember sighs. “We of Londor art not like others. Why should we be bound by other’s rules and laws. I am Lord of Hollows, do I not make the laws of our people?”

Yuria is silent, and Ember can almost see the gears turning in her head.

“Thou dost,” she says slowly. “And as I have sworn afore, lord, I am thine.”

“Then thou hath no issue with such admiration from thy lord?” Ember asks.

Yuria looks away. “I…do not.”

“Why dost thou hesitate, Yuria?” Ember asks.

“I was not the beauty of the Sable Church, lord,” Yuria says. “Dearest Elfriede was the sister to whom the people flocked to. I find it…strange to be the object of another’s affections.”

Ember half-kneels, crowding into Yuria’s space, pressing his forehead to hers, a gesture that seems to surprise Yuria as she almost startles but then stills, saying nothing.

Ember rests his hands atop hers, over the thin fingers still resting on her black helm. “I will be blunt with thee, Yuria of Londor. Thou art the most beautiful woman I hath seen since my awakening from ash and I dare to say that none shall surpass such a sight that I yet behold. Thou hath been my faithful servant and mentor in our endeavors to take the flame for Hollowkind. Thou shalt be greatly rewarded for this.”

Her eyes seem luminous, bright and silver like the moon over Irithyll, the sharp gleaming of a newly sharpened blade, beautiful and lovely.

“Prithee, lord,” she says at last, “May’st we stay like this a while longer? Afore thou must depart for Lothric?”

Ember half-smiles, remembering in the world before, his own Yuria, alone for so long without another’s touch, and how she would lean into him. “Of course, dear Yuria.”

* * *

 

He does not go immediately to the one remaining throne when he next returns, the Prince’s ashes tucked safely away. He goes first to Yuria, finding her in the room where they’ve sparred so many times before, kneeling, her head bowed in contemplation, helm beside her.

She half-turns as he enters, “Lord?” she says as he drops to kneel beside her.

Ember says nothing, just leans in and kisses her.

“Lord?” Yuria murmurs, sounding confused.

“Our goal lies within our reach, dear Yuria,” Ember says against her lips, not drawing away. “I thought a celebration was in order.”

“Oh,” Yuria says, and he can see the hesitant smile that graces her pale lips. “Thou did surprise me, lord.”

Ember kisses her again. “And now?” he asks.

“Thou art kind, lord, to grace thy servant with such gifts,” Yuria says and tentatively kisses back. “Prithee lord, I was not too bold?”

“No,” Ember says, kissing her, deeper now, hungrier. “Thou should be bold more often, dear Yuria,” he says between kisses.

“If thou desire it,” Yuria murmurs, leaning into him, moon-bright eyes half-closed. “Then I shall comply, lord.”

“Prithee Yuria,” Ember whispers. “Come with me, stand at my side as I take the Flame for our people.”

“Wherever thou shall go,” Yuria says fervently, her hands reaching up to touch Ember’s face. “Shall I go too. Thou art my lord, my noble Lord of Hollows. My place is ever at thy side.”

Ember grins, sharp and vicious as the Abyss that swallowed Artorius himself. He stands, pulling Yuria with him. “Come then, Yuria, the Flame awaits us.”

* * *

 

With the Soul of Cinder within his grasp, Ember walks to the Flame. Behind him trails Yuria, who keeps her sword unsheathed, keeping a wary eye out for any interlopers.

Ember examines the Flame, a flickering orange glow that gnaws at the coiled sword about which it’s made its home.

It is a stubborn thing, clinging to its Age of Fire and Light, and Ember laughs softly, one gauntleted hand resting on the coiled sword, listening to the angry crackling of his own Usurped Flame in his chest.

He casts his gaze to the eclipsed sun, now resembling the Darksign that Gwyn so feared. Ember laughs again, the sound echoing in the still air, dark as the coming End.

Yuria draws closer, standing at his side. She removes her helm, watching the Flame, the image of it reflected in her eyes. “Usurp the Flame, noble Lord,” she says, pulling her gaze away to look at Ember.

“For you, my dear Yuria, and for our people,” Ember vows. He reaches out, grasps the Flame in his hand, “Now comes the Age of Dark and an End at last to the Age of Fire.”

He crushes the Flame, feeling the power of its dying gasps surge through him, mingling with his Usurped Flame.

“Now comes the Age of Hollows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've hit the end! I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot that subsequently became more of a short story. I think this is where I leave our Ashen One and his Lady for the time being. Please let me know what you thought of it and leave a kudos at the door if you liked it. Thank you for reading!


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